Tempest Nights
by Reiji Ishiya
Summary: Because the night is pure, but she isn't./ In which we take a trip into the night time nuisances that plague the mind of Izumi Orimoto. (Rating for heavily suggested themes.)
1. Chapter 1

**Hi. We can talk later. I know what you're really here for.**

******_Disclaimer_: This time on Digimon, Digital Monsters! - Oh, I don't own that. Or these characters. (Though technically, since Izumi's parent's are never described, I own my interpretation, but not the characters...) Or anything Digimon related, aside from a few of the video games. And I don't own any of the pop culture referenced here or later. All of the above is owned by their respective companies, etc., and I am in no way affiliated with them. **

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_Chapter 1_

_What did you say?_

The words slip out of her mouth quick and quiet, like a puff of hot air, before curling up into the silence that seems to carry on for ages. The small – _like sticking out tongues that could touch_ – space between them is warm and tense. Anticipation hangs in the air like a bird circling its prey, and she is fretful and nervous, her green eyes refusing to meet his brown ones.

He plucks his left hand up from off of the counter behind her, and she fleetingly thinks to move away from being pressed so closely against him and the counter top. (_Is that because she's not a fan of tight spaces? Yes. Is it even more so because she can't trust herself to be _this close _and not do something _stupid? _Well…_) It cups her chin and gently jerks her head up, forcing her to stare into his eyes. He brushes a strand of her blond hair and tucks it behind her ear. She gulps and hopes he doesn't hear it.

"I said," he speaks, low and soft and laced with something she wants to imagine is there, "what's your problem, Z?" His breath is hot on her face, tickling and tempting her with warmth that she wants to see if it extends to just his breath or beyond. (_Like what about his lips? His tongue? His hands?_) She has to concentrate _very _hard not to think too hard about it, because being bothered by all of these thoughts on how _hot _he could be leave her...she doesn't want to think about it, basically.

She takes in the feeling of his hand warming her skin, his brown eyes smoldering as if they could burn her straight through to the soul, how his brown hair dropped and twisted and curled and framed his face in a way that made her want to run hands through it and…_stuff_. She brings up a hand, guiding it past his (_strong, defined, tan, gorgeous_) arm and stopping at the wrist and lowers his hand from her face. Then she grabs shoulders (_ooh, broad, comfortable shoulders_) and pushes away from him, her jeans colliding briefly with the cargo pants hiding his (_wonderful, heavenly, sports-sculpted_) legs.

"_You," _she mutters, "_you're my problem._" Her voice is hoarse, timid, tired. She averts her eyes away from his, stares at his red hoodie hiding a black t-shirt with a dragon on it. Her shoes scuff lamely on the tile floor, and she moves to step out of the corner near the counter and to somewhere she can just crawl into a ball and die. (_Mostly of embarrassment._) Before she steps far enough to be out of his reach, an arm snakes around her waist and pulls her back against the counter. The back of her lavender jacket brushes up against the gray countertop, her arms now hanging limp at her sides.

His left hand is back on her face again. A smirk is splayed across his lips. His teeth flash pearly white. He pulls her in closer, so much so that his nose tickles her own, whispering, "No, Izumi, I'm the solution." Then he captures her lips and she feels like her mouth, her tongue, her whole body is lit aflame. Her skin is hypersensitive to each sliver of pressure his body is placing on hers.

She can't breathe. Her world is smoke and smog and searing kiss, and it's clouding her senses and suddenly it _stops, _leaving her breathless and irritated in ways she can't really comprehend. "_What – why did you…?" _She questions, voice tinted with slight annoyance. In response, heat erupts on her lips again, and she revels in the feeling of burning. Then, before she can fully enjoy it, it moves to her cheek. Her jawline.

Her _neck._

_And then…_

_Oh._

_She burns. She pools. She explodes._

…Ω…

She awakes slowly. Her eyes flutter open slowly. Her vision blurs, and light shines from the pale moonlight emanating from her window and the clock on her nightstand (_It's 4:30, she notes idly_). She inhales deeply, suddenly, as if startled. She jolts upward. Feels her heart hammering in her chest, the beats drumming up a rhythm too fast for her to really comprehend.

She feels damp. Her forehead is covered in a thin layer of sweat, as are her pajamas. Her sheets are soaked and musty, and she groans before removing them. She places them in a pile by her door, content to get it in the morning. As she crawls back to the bed, lying in the still slightly smelly mattress, she notes idly that she _burns. _Her arms, her face, her chest…all engulfed in flames. She does not know what to make of it, save for what she believes are the lingering effects of a…_particular reoccurring…_problem, might be the best way to describe it.

For four months, she's had…_dreams_…about a friend of hers. They had started off simple – _trips to the beach, heading to the diner she worked at one summer, going to the school dance – _and often involved other friends, but one day (_roughly two months ago_), the others were _gone, _and so had the fun and togetherness in her other dreams.

Now, things had changed. No one _knew_, but she suspected that _they _suspected something was up. It's pretty awkward, actually, since _all _of her friends are boys. (_A fact which has her – and her mother and _definitely _her father – worried, because it sounds kind of pathetic._) But they've been looking at her _differently _and it's not _uncomfortable _(_because if it was, she'd _deal with it _before her father would_), but she still wishes they would _stop. _She wonders how obvious it's been, and hopes that the answer is _not very._

But as she lay in sweat soaked bed, body burning, she realizes that _yes, _it's _very _obvious that things have changed and she has to do something she _swore _she'd never do. She creeps down the hall, into her parent's room, and wakes her mother. Asks her to go to the mall (_their code word for 'let's have girl talk time'_). She says "tomorrow," then rolls over and into her father's arms.

Izumi leaves, crawls into the bed, and falls asleep _–_ dreading the morning sun, mourning a dreaded dream, dreaming again of the sun made man that burns her skin.

…Ω…

* * *

**...Hey! Um...I'm back?**

**It's nice to see you all, except I can't see you, but you know what I mean. I know you're all probably like, "Oh _this guy. Let's see how long this one lasts before it dies a sudden, slow death." _I don't blame you. I won't blame you. If it happens, I'll take all flames you spew. (Rhyming accidentally on purpose...also, that sounded asshole-like. Sorry. I know you guys aren't assholes.) **

**But, yeah. Um...if it's anyone's birthday, "Happy Birthday!" If it's not..."Happy Belated/Eventual Birthday!" (Equal opportunity here at Ishiya Internet Inking Inc.) And uh, don't forget that review button. It exists. You can use it to tell me how much you loved/hated this. Or if I should change the rating. Or anything really. I'm a pretty cool guy, and I'm great with secrets.**

**See you next time! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! We can talk later about how much I own none of this. Right now, you should read. **_  
_

**(Note: This was the chapter that made me feel like this was worthy of an M rating. You've been warned.)**

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_Chapter 2_

_So warm…_

She thinks idly, as water sprays from the faucet above her head. Her eyes are closed. Her hair clings to her cheeks and flows down to her back. Water droplets cascade down her face, trickle across her skin, rivulets pooling down by her feet. She leans back against the pristine green tiles, soap on her back staining them with white suds.

The sound of someone rapping at the door reaches her ears, breaking her from her reverie. She calls out a quick response of "I'm in here," hoping that whoever (_probably her dad and his strange insistence on 'morning potty privileges,' as he calls them_) would walk away. She doesn't hear any further knocks, so she slinks back into the spray of the shower. She sighs, clutching her washcloth so that she can begin washing the soap off.

The _plip-plop _sound of feet on the cold bathroom floor sends her into a panic. She hadn't heard the door open, (_!_) She hopes it's just her mind playing tricks on her. She pulls back the pale curtain, pokes her head out just a bit. _There's no one here._ She laughs a little bit to herself, bringing the washcloth to her chest, and pulls the curtain back into place.

"_Hey,_" a voice whispers in her ear.

She giggles a bit. "Oh. Hey, Takuya, it's just you. You scared me for a sec…" She stops, turning to look at the object of her…dreams? Nightmares? (_Could she _call _them nightmares, if she's only afraid of what happens _after_, and is kind of…_excited_…during them?_) "Wh-What the hell are you doing in here?" She screeches, reflexively covering herself with her hands.

"_Nothing," _he mutters, and he flashes her with a grin that makes her heart flutter – though out of fear or excitement, she's unsure. She locks eyes with him, and she gets a little lost for a second. Water drips down his face and gets trapped in his hair, and it takes a lot of willpower not to watch it swirl on his skin and dance along the ridges and contours and…

She reaches past him to turn the temperature down, but he grabs her wrist. She tugs back, pushes him away, yet he still steps closer. "So…" she starts, heart rate skyrocketing at the increased intimacy between them, "– so, could you _leave_?" Her voice is high, her breath coming flustered gasps, her cheeks stained red. She can feel the water roll off his arm and onto hers. It's surprisingly warm.

"_Sure," _he says, grin still on his face as his eyes ooze with emotions she can't (_or rather _can, _but _won't) name, "_if that's what you want." _He moves in even closer, using his left hand to brush her wet hair behind her ear and caress her cheek. She vaguely notes the feeling of his breath on her nose, and thinks of how _easy _it would be to just _lean _and touch his chest. "_But I think you don't _want _me to leave. Am I right?_"

She looks down, uncertain, unsure, afraid. The sound of water _pinging _on the floor, _patting _on the curtain, _plopping _on their skin is all that is heard for a few tense moments. Fear swirls in her chest like water down the drain, and she wonders where her parents are. Words are unable to fall from her lips, wafting away in the area between her brain and her tongue like the steam above her head.

Deceptively slowly, she nods, her forehead briefly touching his chin.

"_Hmph," _he says behind a smirk, "_such a _dirty _girl." _He says it slowly, huskily, almost like it's a compliment. _(She feels oddly like she should accept it if it _is_ one_.) "_What," _he says, noticing her furrowed eyebrows, "_isn't that why you're _in the shower?" He chuckles a bit as blood pools in her cheeks. "_To be cleansed?" _

He reaches for the washcloth with his right hand, gently pulling it from her grasp. "_Let me help you with that." _He lathers it with soap. Runs it across her face. Wets it and wipes away the soap. Kisses it. He repeats the action on her shoulders.

Knees.

Toes.

_Then he goes…_

_ Water falls. Steam rises. Soap covers her. She watches it wash away. She still feels so…_

_Unclean._

…Ω…

She wakes a little less composed than before. Her hair is splayed all across the bed, her clothes are rumpled, and she's upside down. All in all, she had a pretty _weird _dream. She rubs her eyes, turns to her open door, and catches sight of her father standing guard with a baseball bat in hand.

_She doesn't think she wants to know._

"… Dad ?" She slurs sleepily, confusion coming through the haze of _mmm-sleep_ her clouded mind has set up. She wipes at her face to find dried drool. (_Gross._) Her father turns around, looking both embarrassed and relieved, and smiles at her from his position in the doorframe. He runs a hand through his curly blond hair that trickles a bit down his forehead, yet she's noticed that it has started to recede with age.

"Hey, baby girl," he replies, "sorry I woke you up. How are you?" He comes in closer, his hazel eyes taking note of her disheveled appearance, and sits down on her (_sweaty, smelly, bare_) bed. His eyebrows quirk up slightly. "You have a bad dream?"

She looks at the man whose hair she inherited, and furiously shakes her head. "Something like that. Nothing you should worry about." His eyebrows furrow a little more. "Seriously daddy, I'm _fine._" His large, imposing figure leans in closer, scrutinizing her. He shrugs his shoulders.

"Okay," he says questioningly, "you're '_fine.' _But if you ever need anything – "

She pushes her father's shoulder playfully. "Yes, daddy I know I can come to you. Speaking of, Mom and I are going to the mall…" She replies, and her father sighs dejectedly. She listens as he grumbles about going to get his wallet, and she gives him a hug. "Love you Dad."

"_Mhmm_," her father replies playfully, "of course you do. You and your mother both just _love _me and my wallet. Especially my wallet." He smiles at her, leans in to kiss her forehead, shuffles out into the hallway.

"Hey, Dad," she calls out, "can you check the shower out for me?" Her father looks perplexed, and asks if something was wrong with it. "I just – uh – I thought I saw a bug in there earlier." He rolls his eyes, and she breathes a little easier knowing that he accepted her lie.

"Sure, Izumi. Your personal ATM/ exterminator is on the job." He quips, and she laughs a little bit. "Love you, kiddo."

"Thanks, Dad. Love you too." She says, smiling as her father walks away. She listens as his feet slap against the quiet cushion of carpet, hoping to drown the ghost of the sounds and sensations of her dream amidst the flood of shame that burns inside her.

_She fails miserably._

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**So...that was Chapter 2. **

**First of all, Happy Thanksgiving guys! Did you know that I'm thankful for all of you wonderful readers? Because I am. In fact, I'm so thankful that you guys exist that I wrote this chapter before I started a 1000 word paper (that I pretty much started, finished, and turned in the day it was due.) for one of my classes. Yeah, I love you all THAT much. (But I'm never doing that again.)**

**Secondly, yeah. That chapter though...what'd you think? Leave a review down below. Or PM me, it's whatevs. I'm a pretty sociable guy. (We can even talk about unrelated stuff if you want, I won't tell. It's all good.)**

**Alright, I'll leave you alone so I can either sleep off this food or finish the (hopefully) last section of Chapter 3. Did I mention I'm almost done with Chapter 3? Oops, spoilers. Ok, bye now! See you soon! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey! It's a little (a lot) late, and I'm still not 100% happy with the ending (more like 87%), but here's the chapter.**

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_Chapter 3_

_It's funny…_

The feeling of suddenly being cold – of a chill that runs through blood and seeps into bones and sends shivers down spines – overtakes her as she steps onto the tile of the bathroom floor. She glances at the (_definitely closed and _maybe _locked_) door before she disrobes, piling her clothes onto the closed lid of the toilet next to the shower. She steps in, lets her fingers roam across the fluffy towel as water rains down upon it, then vigorously rubs the soap against it as fast as she can. The foamy substance is on – and then off – her as quickly as she can manage. She glances around the stall furtively at every strange sound, feeling like a fool for maybe the fifth time when _nothing is there. _A towel is loosely pulled up and around her, and she nearly _flies _out of the bathroom.

_She's not paranoid. _

_(_She wonders if the lie sounds as untrue in her head as it would saying it out loud.)

She looks up and sees that eight minutes have passed since she first left to shower and her return. She sighs, then flops down heavily on her bed. She considers what she's going to wear (_because, according to her mother, since she _is _going out where _other people _can see her, she "can't just put on any old thing"_), then decides to do exactly what her mother advised her not to do. One pair of sweatpants and her favorite old sweatshirt later, she bounds down the stairs, through the hallway, past the breakfast nook, and into the kitchen.

Her bare feet are planted firmly on the old, ugly, red kitchen tiles. She looks around and spots her father alternating between glaring at the coffee machine and his attempts at making pancakes. She giggles a bit, and her father turns and gives her a little thumbs up before turning back to the – _now burning – _pancake on the stove. He sighs and dumps it in the garbage disposal. Izumi starts to laugh, but a feeling of _cold _stifles the notion, settling deep in the pit of her stomach and turning her blood into ice.

…_She knows this feeling._

She turns around to face her mother's penetrating glare, and instinctively moves closer to her father. Her mother is…not _exactly _a morning person – in fact, she's more akin to a vampire or zombie (_because she's at home with the dark, but stumbles and swears at the sun's very existence_) without copious consumption of coffee.

"_You,"_ her mother drawls sleepily as she rests her tired jade green eyes on her daughter, "_change."_ Her feet drag heavily on the floor as she shuffles toward her husband, a finger pointed at his broad chest. "_And you," _she slurs, swatting at a strand of straight brown hair, "_kiss. Coffee. Cash. In that order._"

Izumi and her father lock eyes for a moment, and he winks at her before a wide grin splits his face. She watches amusedly as her father leans in, resting a finger on his wife's lips. She huffs a little indignantly, her lips moving as best they can to resemble a pout, arms crossed against her chest. Izumi can't help but laugh. Her father is smiling as well.

"Now honey," he says in his best mocking tone available, "as much as I love seeing you all tired and limp, don't you think you should have some of this warm coffee?" He brandishes the coffee pot in his hand, moving it closer to her nose.

Her mother's eyes flutter a little. A deep, sharp, sudden inhale comes through her nose. She grabs her husband's wrist greedily, hand clamping down like a vice. She stares openly, eyes locking with her husband's before settling into a glare that could shatter any man's resolve like it was a baseball coming through the neighbor's glass window.

"_Honey, give it to me__." _She grinds out, teeth gnashing on nearly every syllable. She moves in closer to him, flush against his chest. She looks up at him, head level with his shoulder, pulls his head down closer to hers. "_I want that inside me. Now._" Her eyes are simmering like the coffee in his hands, and it takes him a second to think. Air rushes in and out of his nostrils in tempo with his erratic heartbeat. A quiet gulp breaks a loud silence.

All the while, Izumi is _horrified. _(_What did I just witness?_) No amount of _Brain Bleach™ _would _ever _erase any of that from her mind. (_Was...was my mother…_seducing _my father_? _**In front of me!?**_) She feels sick. Her stomach churns, her face is flush with heat. She idly wonders if she could die from embarrassment. (_She kind of wants to._)

The sound of awkward laughter and a cleared throat, of cabinets opening, of coffee poured and consumed (_with a sigh that does nothing to alleviate her embarrassment_), brings her back from the brink. Her father's eyes are wide brown saucers, full of fear and _sorry _and _something (she _really _didn't want to think about_). His face blooms red, and her mother just looks back and forth at the two mortified blonds on either end of the room. She shrugs her shoulders.

"_Oh, stop it you two! Dear, you've heard me say _much _worse than that." _(Her father's face has now come to resemble a tomato, and Izumi _really _would rather be _**anywhere**__ else_ right now.) "_And Zoe," _she addresses her daughter, using the name she was given during a visit to Italy by kids who wouldn't bother trying to pronounce Izumi, "_I'm just trying to teach you how to win an argument with your husband."_

Izumi nearly laughs at how absurd that sounds. If she were an anime character, she'd probably have a sweat drop rolling down her forehead right now. "Mom," she mutters, "I don't think nearly killing someone of embarrassment counts as a win in an argument." Her mother just shakes her head at her daughter, as if she were saying '_Nonsense, dear.'_

"_Oh Zoe darling, must you be so dramatic? You can't die from embarrassment! You're more likely to die from eating something bad…" _Her mother says, entirely dismissing Izumi's look that screams that '_I beg to differ.' _

Her father, on the other hand, decides to have a bit of revenge. "**Like your mother's cooking**." It's shot out his mouth like a bullet, piercing through his wife's entire argument with relative ease. He smirks triumphantly as she leaves her mouth agape, eyes wide, face flushed red as the kitchen tiles. His daughter bites her tongue to keep from laughing, yet it still comes out after a moment where he slowly sips on his own coffee mug.

Then he motions to the empty chairs at the empty table, where a plate of (_barely_) burnt pancakes rests. He waits until everyone awkwardly shuffles their chairs closer to the table, forks in hand, to offer them a wide smile. "**Now that everyone at the table is thoroughly embarrassed, let's eat."**

…Ω…

After an awkward start, where apologies are exchanged between husband and wife, breakfast is consumed. Izumi is "excused" (_read: forced against her will_) by her mother with a (_very thinly veiled_) hint to change her clothes to something less "_lazy._" She practically jumps up two or three steps at a time, and she is soon soaring over the top step with ease. She touches down a bit harshly, wood cool against the soles of her feet. Pivots suddenly. Rushes back down.

_Unsure why_.

A light shines from the doorway leading to the kitchen, radiates through the hallway, bathes her in a dull glow of yellow/white light. (_She kind of wonders if the light's _really _white, or if all the colors dancing in front of her eyes make it seems less – more? – brilliant than it really is. Then she thinks about how stupid that sounds, and wonders if her _not-_obsession with Takuya is affecting more than her dreams._) She's drawn in like a moth to a flame, feet gliding across the colorful tiles of the hallway. She stops in the breakfast nook, the walls gleaming gold in a way that fascinates her for a second. She reaches out a hand, moves to touch it.

Muted laughter greets her ears, and she turns in surprise. It tickles across her skin and whispers in her ear and dances in her hair. She sees nothing, hears nothing, save for the gleam of gold before her. Her eyes dart back and forth, her hair raises on the back of her neck, her body is tense. A hand slinks it way up her spine, stopping on her shoulder. A voice soothing croons in her ear, "_Relax, it's just me._"

She does _not_.

She spins around, grabs what she hopes is a wrist, then pulls. _Hard. _She feels a body smash into her raised knee, hears the break in breaths. She smiles in satisfaction as she lets go of the gloved hand…

_ Shit._ She's _dreaming. Again._ She scowls as Takuya (_who she wasn't appreciating or anything_) begins to rise up off the floor. He winces, one hand gingerly cradling…_himself, _while the other is busy picking up the rest of him off the ground. "_Geez," _he mutters hoarsely, "_shoot me why don't you? It'd probably hurt less."_ He stands a bit shakily, leaning on the wall behind him.

"I could make it hurt more, if you like." She shoots back, hands clenched at her sides. He gives her a sly look for a moment, grins heavily. He opens his mouth and retorts something lewd and inappropriate ("_As long as you kiss it better.")_ that Zoe has the decency to blush at. "I will do no such thing!" She says, embarrassed beyond belief.

Takuya shrugs his shoulders, looking completely nonchalant. "_Well, can't say I didn't try._" He moves to the kitchen for a moment, takes something out of the fridge, stuffs it into his pocket. He puts the bag it was in away before Zoe can see what was inside.

"What's that in your pocket?" She asks, voice curious and questioning at the same time. He smirks again, and she realizes what just happened. "Don't you dare – "

"_Oh, this?" _he replies cheekily, "_I'm just happy to see you is all." _He laughs as she groans in frustration, hand meeting her face in an obvious show of annoyance. Then, out of nowhere, his face shifts to one of seriousness. "_But I can show you _how happy _later. You've got business to take care of."_

Zoe looks at him, confused beyond comprehension. "What? What are you talking about?" She moves toward him, hand reaching out and brushing his forearm, but he moves away. Her eyebrow raises. (_This hasn't happened before…_) "Why are you doing this to me?! Takuya? Answer me!" He moves forward a bit. His hand raises. Stops on her head and fluffs her hair.

"_Of course. But I've got something I need to take care of first."_

"_Something you need – _I don't _care _what _you 'need' _Takuya!What about what _I need?!_" She says furiously, green eyes glaring up at him. Her hand moves to grab his, and she clenches tight. Pulls him closer. "_Give me what I need, Takuya_."

He looks at her as a sad smile stretches on his face. He leans down, presses his nose gently to hers. Her heart speeds up. "_Sorry, Z. But you've got to wake up." _

Ω

"_Wake up, Zoe!"_ A voice cries out from beside her. She starts in bed, tumbles with the covers draped around her, yelping as she falls out and on to the floor. She looks up into the face of her mother.

"Mom," she mutters blearily, "what?"

Her mother sighs. Pinches the bridge of her nose. Shakes her head. "_Come on Zoe, get up. Are you ok?" _She looks her daughter over, running a hand through her brown hair, then purses her lips. "_Is there…something – _anything – _you want to tell me?" _

Izumi picks herself up, smoothing her rumpled (_but totally different from breakfast_) jeans and t-shirt with her hands once firmly on her feet. She stretches a bit, then looks at her mother. "It's a long story," she says in response.

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**So...you've got the chapter you needed? But do you think it was the one you deserved? Let me know in the comments section.**

**And, you know, while you're at it, you can read about the following info:**

**I love you guys. Thanks for reading. Thanks to the reviewers. Thanks for even clicking on this. Or reading this far. That is all.**

**See you next time! (Which is hopefully not 2 months away again... **


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